


Lost and Found

by gryvon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, College Student Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Derek, Robbery, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21667384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/pseuds/gryvon
Summary: Stiles suffers a panic attack after being robbed at gunpoint. Officer Hale is there to help him out of it.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 16
Kudos: 584
Collections: The Sterek Secret Santa - Edition 2019





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Callofthemoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callofthemoon/gifts).



"Focus on me, okay?" 

A deep voice cuts through the haze of panic, like a light shining down into the well of despair his anxiety has thrown him into.

"Hey, you're safe." 

Warmth. A hand on his. A warm chest under his palm, the heat filtered through a thin layer of soft fabric. He can feel a heartbeat, steady and strong.

"Breathe. Come on, breathe with me."

The voice—the male voice—might as well have asked Stiles to turn water to wine, breathing seemed just as impossible. He knows it isn't. He manages fine most days but most days he isn’t.... 

No. Don't think about it. Not yet. Not now. He's safe. The man said so and there's something about him that feels familiar, something about his soul that Stiles's magic recognizes.

He inhales on a gasp, exhales a shaky breath.

"That's it. That's good. Just like that. In again."

Stiles breathes in. He blinks and the world comes back into focus. He sees blue, brilliant blue eyes set in a handsome face framed by stubble. The man smiles, showing off a pair of bunny teeth that take nothing from how blindingly hot the stranger is.

"And out. Good."

Each breath shared with the stranger brings the rest of the world a little further back into focus. He's in a convenience store, the little shop three blocks from campus. It's night. Late night, if he remembers correctly, after midnight. He'd been studying at the library and he wanted midterm supplies before he went back to the dorms.

"Hi, there," the stranger says. He's wearing a blue police uniform. The name tag says 'Hale.' Stiles wonders if he's related to the Beacon Hills Hales. He wonders if this one is also a werewolf. "Back with us?"

Stiles nods. He pulls his hand away from the officer's chest with reluctance. He wants to curl into the safety of the stranger's arms, but most people would consider that rude, or at the very least, creepy and weird. 

"S-Sorry." His voice comes out rough and reedy.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Hale says. He sits back on his heels, putting some distance between them. "Do you know where you are?"

He nods. "S-Store."

"Do you live nearby?"

Stiles nods again. He's feeling a little steadier. The uniform helps. It reminds him of his dad, even if it's the wrong color. He wants to call his dad but if he's not working then he's probably asleep and Stiles doesn't want to risk waking him if he is. He glances down at his turned-out pockets. He also doesn't have his phone to call with.

Stiles releases a long sigh and runs a hand through his hair. His chest hurts. The brief lack of oxygen is giving him a headache. "Yeah," he says. "At the dorms."

"Do you want a ride back? I can take your statement in the morning. We don't have to go through everything right now."

Officer Hale is being too nice. They need his statement now if they want to catch the robber. It'd be sharper in his memory, assuming he could remember anything past having a gun shoved in his face.

They probably don't intend to catch the guy. Most trivial robberies go unsolved. If Hale is a werewolf, maybe he's going to try tracking by scent? That seems unlikely.

Stiles slumps back against the ice cooler. His student ID was in his wallet, which he no longer has either, which means he can't get back to his room, assuming Scott would even wake up if Stiles knocked to let him in. 

This really isn't his night. 

"No, I need my wallet and keys to get in."

"Okay." Officer Hale nods easily. "Do you want to wait at the station? You can use the phone at my desk to call someone. I've been told our coffee isn't half bad."

He could call Lydia, she's probably awake, but he has one of Deaton's books in his backpack and three unfinished papers on his laptop that he hadn't backed up. He doesn't really want to wait and risk the robber selling off his stuff.

If he wants his belongings back, he's going to have to do it himself.

Stiles looks up at the shelves. There's not a whole lot to work with but he's the king of improvisation, though half the time he only does it to watch Deaton's face twitch.

Officer Hale offers him a hand up. His palm is warm. Stiles wants to hold on forever, but again, trying not to be a creeper. Hale doesn't pull away immediately either, so maybe it's not just him. He glances up at Hale and smiles when he catches Hale watching him.

Later. He can hit on the handsome police officer later.

Stiles reluctantly releases Hale's hand and peruses the shelves. He grabs a bottle of iced coffee, a container of salt, a lighter, and a travel map. He brings his haul to the counter where the clerk is watching him strangely.

"Want your money back?" The guy nods. "Then comp me this and let me borrow a knife."

Officer Hale raises a very judgmental eyebrow. "You have a license to practice magic?"

Stiles smirks at Hale. “I’m more than just a pretty face.” He holds out his hand. “Stiles Stilinski, Spark and Emissary to the McCall pack.”

Something hot and electric spreads from where Officer Hale’s hand grips his. “Derek Hale.” His eyes flash blue and Stiles bites his cheek to keep from drooling. “Beta of the Beacon Hills Pack.” Derek runs his eyes over Stiles and there’s a hunger in his gaze that lets Stiles know he’s not the only one with some instant attraction going on. “I’ve heard of you.”

Stiles smiles and looks at Derek through lowered lashes. “All good things, I hope?”

The clerk scans everything in, presses a few buttons, then pushes it back with a pointed cough.

“Right. Knife?”

Derek pulls a folded blade from his pocket and hands it to Stiles. “Here. Use mine.”

Stiles arches an eyebrow. His lips twitch into a wry smirk. “Don’t you have...?” He mimes claws.

Derek shrugs. “Sometimes you don’t want to get your hands dirty.”

“Fair.”

Stiles carries his goods out onto the sidewalk in front of the shop. He unfolds the map and holds it down with the lighter, salt, knife, and coffee, one in each corner. He pours a circle of salt around the map, then uses the lighter to sterilize the blade. Once the blade cools, he cuts his palm and makes a fist over the center of the map, squeezing his blood out over the map.

He closes his eyes and concentrates on his missing backpack. He’s used it to carry so many things that have been touched by his magic. There’s a durability charm sewn into the bottom and each strap. He’s got a lighter, candle, and mountain ash in one of the pockets. He’s got a woven protective charm on a keychain and a spelled coin in his wallet.

He opens his eyes as his magic gathers in the items before him. The salt swirls into a miniature hurricane, lifting the map up as his blood soaks into the paper. The map folds itself into an origami bird. The salt disappears into the folds.

The bird flits around Stiles’s head twice. Stiles points to Derek and the bird moves to flutter in the air in front of the officer.

Derek stares at the bird with wide eyes. He looks somewhat awed when Stiles hands him his knife back and picks up the rest of the supplies.

“What’s the coffee for?” One of the other officers—Boyd, according to his nametag—asks.

Stiles twists off the cap and takes a long chug. “I’ve been up since eight in the morning and magic uses a lot of energy.”

The bird flies a short distance away and hovers, waiting.

“Shall we?” Stiles asks.

“Get in the car.” Stiles doesn’t stifle his giggle well enough when Derek does the whole hand on the back of the head thing while helping Stiles into the back of their cruiser, judging from the look Boyd shoots him from the passenger seat.

The bird takes off and the cruiser follows. Stiles’s magic is sentient enough to know to pause for red lights and stop signs. They pull into an apartment complex.

“Stay here,” Derek says, his voice holding the warning growl of a territorial werewolf.

Stiles smiles and turns to lay down in the back seat. “Yeah, sure.” He waves his hand in a grand gesture. “Do your thing. I’m gonna take a nap. Please lock the doors on your way out.”

Derek snorts a half-suppressed laugh. He doesn’t ask why Stiles doesn’t want to come in with them, and Stiles kind of loves him for it. He’s not being arrogant when he says he’s an amazing magician, one of the strongest Deaton’s ever encountered.

He's strong. He's taken down Darach and wendigo and rogue Alpha werewolves with a laugh and a heavy dose of snark and sarcasm. But ever since one of his asshole classmates went crazy when he was in high school and shot up the Sheriff's Station while Stiles was visiting his dad, he's had a thing about guns. A very strong, very panicky thing about guns that sends him into an anxiety spiral like that one that Derek pulled him out. So he'll gladly stay in the car and letting the mostly bulletproof werewolf—werewolves?—deal with the asshole that stole his stuff.

He doesn't actually expect to fall asleep, but it's been a long day.

He wakes to someone tapping on the window above his head. Stiles blinks up at Derek. He flails, grabbing for something to help lever himself back upright. Once he's seated, Derek opens the door and sets Stiles's backpack on the seat next to him.

"Your phone, wallet, and keys are inside." Derek taps the front pocket. The paper bird is perched on Derek's shoulder. It nuzzles against Derek's stubble. Derek sighs in a way that suggests this isn't the first time the bird's done it and Stiles kind of loves him a little more. "Can I give you a ride back to the dorms?"

"Yes, please!" 

Stiles pulls his phone out and unlocks it, checking his messages while Derek drives them back to campus. Stiles points him to the correct dorm. Derek gets out first to open the door for Stiles.

Stiles grabs Derek's arm before he can get back in the car. "Hey, can I ask you something weird?"

Derek raises an eyebrow but says nothing. The bird ruffles its wings and settles into a round, happy lump on Derek's shoulder.

Stiles holds out his phone with a new contact form open. "Feel free to tell me to fuck off if you're not interested, but would you like to go out sometime and if so, can I have your number?"

Derek's answering grin shows off those adorable bunny teeth. He ducks his head slightly as he takes Stiles's phone. "Yeah, that's... I'd like that."

As soon as Derek passes back the phone, Stiles shoots off a text so Derek has his number. "So, it's kind of midterms right now, but I'm free after Thursday and could really use something that doesn't involve studying or taking tests to kick off the weekend."

"I think I can manage that. I'm off on Friday."

"Cool." Stiles's grin is out of control. He bounces on his heels. "It's a date."

"Yeah," Derek grins back at him. "Looking forward to it."

Boyd raps on the window.

Derek jerks his thumb behind him. "I should go. Finish my shift."

Stiles gives in to impulse and raises up on his toes to drop a quick kiss on Derek's cheek. "My hero." He waves to Derek and the bird as he swipes to get into the dorm.

Despite his panic attack, he has some very good dreams that night featuring a blue-eyed officer.


End file.
